A ring at the front door.  Marcella rose, leaning one hand on the end of the sofa—­a long slim figure in her black dress—­haggard and pathetic.

When Aldous entered, her face was one question.  He went up to her and took her hand.

“In the case of Westall the verdict is one of ‘Wilful Murder’ against Hurd.  In that of poor Charlie Dynes the court is adjourned.  Enough evidence has been taken to justify burial.  But there is news to-night that one of the Widrington gang has turned informer, and the police say they will have their hands on them all within the next two or three days.”

Marcella withdrew herself from him and fell back into the corner of the sofa.  Shading her eyes with her hand she tried to be very composed and business-like.

“Was Hurd himself examined?”

“Yes, under the new Act.  He gave the account which he gave to you and to his wife.  But the Court—­”

“Did not believe it?”

“No.  The evidence of motive was too strong.  It was clear from his own account that he was out for poaching purposes, that he was leading the Oxford gang, and that he had a gun while Westall was unarmed.  He admitted too that Westall called on him to give up the bag of pheasants he held, and the gun.  He refused.  Then he says Westall came at him, and he fired.  Dick Patton and one or two others gave evidence as to the language he has habitually used about Westall for months past.”

“Cowards—­curs!” cried Marcella, clenching both her hands, a kind of sob in her throat.

Aldous, already white and careworn, showed, Mrs. Boyce thought, a ray of indignation for an instant.  Then he resumed steadily—­

“And Brown, our steward, gave evidence as to his employment since October.  The coroner summed up carefully, and I think fairly, and the verdict was given about half-past six.”

“They took him back to prison?”

“Of course.  He comes before the magistrates on Thursday.”

“And you will be one!”

The girl’s tone was indescribable.

Aldous started.  Mrs. Boyce reddened with anger, and checking her instinct to intervene began to put away her working materials that she might leave them together.  While she was still busy Aldous said: 

“You forget; no magistrate ever tries a case in which he is personally concerned.  I shall take no part in the trial.  My grandfather, of course, must prosecute.”

“But it will be a bench of landlords,” cried Marcella; “of men with whom a poacher is already condemned.”

“You are unjust to us, I think,” said Aldous, slowly, after a pause, during which Mrs. Boyce left the room—­“to some of us, at any rate.  Besides, as of course you know, the case will be simply sent on for trial at the assizes.  By the way “—­his tone changed—­“I hear to-night that Harry Wharton undertakes the defence.”

“Yes,” said Marcella, defiantly.  “Is there anything to say against it?  You wouldn’t wish Hurd not to be defended, I suppose?”